tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10336245324074732882018-05-13T04:55:08.184-04:00hardtales Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.comBlogger1306125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-17952800087811058642017-08-30T22:29:00.001-04:002017-08-30T22:29:14.695-04:00Peace Out, Summer Vacation...Hi.<div>Now I have a seventh grader (and he happens to have the same bus stop and middle school as seventh grade me).</div><div>Summer treated me kind of...oddly.</div><div>We had so much fun having goofy, impromptu little adventures; but, there was also a slightly darker side that I'm still coming to grips with.</div><div>Most of that darkness stems from a pretty nasty cycle of depression followed by an almost unbearably happy...high, for lack of a better word.</div><div>And during that very high <i>high, </i>I crashed my bike on a rather peppy, way too aggressive/confident jaunt on the trails with my husband following close behind.</div><div>It wasn't a violent, bloody, helmet-cracking spectacle of a crash (I've had those, too)...more like a solid, defiant <i>thud. </i>I wish I could say I was ripping down some gnarly descent littered with loose rocks and criss-cross slick roots in every direction.</div><div>Nope. Quite the opposire.&nbsp;</div><div>So opposite, in fact, I'll spare you the boring details.&nbsp;</div><div>I hopped right back on my bike without assessing any damage (there was none, except of course my ego).</div><div>It wasn't until much later that day when I couldn't recall certain words, couldn't quite focus, coupled with a pounding unrelenting throb in my head that I thought, "Huh. Maybe I should get checked out?"</div><div>Then boom ER boom Neurological exam boom CT scan BOOM concussion boom...<i>go home and rest. Then rest some more. And rest even more than that when you're done resting.</i></div><div>And we all know how much I LOVE to be idle &amp; sedentary for days on end.&nbsp;</div><div>And I love it even more when I'm unable (not allowed) to watch TV, use my phone to look at garbage and/or cute pictures of puppies (thanks, Maggie) or text my friends all the shit that pops into my head randomly throughout the day...no reading, no focusing in general.</div><div>It's harder than it sounds.&nbsp;</div><div>In the midst of all this, I was dealing with some changes to my *meds*/crazy pills...whatever you want to call them.&nbsp;</div><div>So, I took all the ass-kicking in stride with just a teeny tiny pity party for myself...now I'm clawing my way back to some semblance of normal.</div><div>Normal for me requires a healthy dose of sweating outside while traveling briskly over dirt or pavement (or both) on my own two feet or on two wheels.</div><div>I think I will have run a mere 30ish miles for the entire month of August.&nbsp;</div><div>So that's a bummer.</div><div>But.</div><div>It's really nothing &amp; such a minor insignificant *blip*</div><div>when I get out of my own head and consider all the <i>really hard</i>&nbsp;shit that people are dealing with right now in Texas or Charlottesville or right on my nephew's own street in Coatesville. Just to rattle off a few.</div><div>Come on.</div><div>So that's where my bitching stops.</div><div>I always come back &amp; sometimes, even stronger.</div><div>(Hopefully, that's the theme going forward...not just for me, but for this utter shitshow that has choked our beloved nation...and the world, at large; side-eyeing us &amp; just waiting for yet another outrageous misstep or injustice).</div><div>Enough already.&nbsp;</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-36746485329974078572017-04-20T18:33:00.001-04:002017-04-20T18:33:15.115-04:00StretchedMan.<div>Feeling like I'm being pulled in so many different directions lately...(much like all of you, right?).</div><div>When I say I'm thinking of you/rooting for you/have your back/feel your pain/share your joy because&nbsp;</div><div>Your mom's cancer is back</div><div>Or</div><div>Your kid has a big basketball game</div><div>Or&nbsp;</div><div>You're about to run your first half-marathon</div><div>Or</div><div>You just quit your job and you're scared</div><div>Or&nbsp;</div><div>You want to leave your asshole sociopath husband&nbsp;</div><div>Or&nbsp;</div><div>You're thinking about moving out west</div><div>Or</div><div>You want to take up with a much younger dude to break a waaaay too long dry spell and you don't want to be judged</div><div>Or</div><div>Your parents drive you fucking nuts</div><div>Or</div><div>Your trying to stay positive even though you've been in jail since 2013</div><div>Or</div><div>You just had a baby and feel like you don't have a fucking clue</div><div>Or</div><div>You're fed up with our surreal state of political affairs and need some direction and support</div><div>Or</div><div>You're trying to lose weight in order to be healthier and around longer for your kids (even though they are assholes lately)</div><div>Or</div><div>You've just returned from a year away and all your friends have cut you off and you're lonely</div><div>Or</div><div>You are nursing a bad breakup</div><div>Or</div><div>You can't make rent or pay child support</div><div>Or</div><div>You are in the throes of a deep, dark depression</div><div>Or</div><div>You're embarking on a brave adventure all alone</div><div>Or&nbsp;</div><div>You are fighting hate and standing up for what you believe in</div><div>Or&nbsp;</div><div>You're training for a big race and falling short of your goals</div><div>Or</div><div>You're just happy to be here, happy to be anywhere (I think Keith Richards said that...maybe I'm making shit up).</div><div>Anyway.</div><div>I can barely keep up with myself let alone all the wonderful people in my life.</div><div>That doesn't mean I won't keep trying.</div><div>Peace xxoo</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-33455336250909082892017-01-23T15:03:00.001-05:002017-01-25T14:27:59.150-05:00I was There (Women's March on D.C.)The night before the march, my dad implored me (like any good dad would) to reconsider going.<div>"You have kids to think about and come home to."</div><div>His well-meaning words gave me pause (and a fair share of knots in my stomach/anxiety).</div><div>I shared my thoughts with my husband and quickly crafted an email to my dad (knowing I would have gone off the rails or lost my nerve had I called him).&nbsp;</div><div>Here it is:</div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Dad,<br>I value and deeply respect your insight &amp; advice perhaps more than anybody's. I thought about what you suggested; that I reconsider going to DC tomorrow &amp; I am sticking to my plan.<br>There are security &amp; safety protocols in place tomorrow. The march is legitimate, has a permit and immense support from the city's law enforcement. I'm confident this will be a peaceful demonstration.<br>Obviously I'm going to be cautious, but I'm not worried about violence.<br>I bet most of those rioters likely didn't even exercise their right to vote, nor do they even understand what their purported "cause" is.<br>This isn't, as you know, just an anti-trump rally. It's a show of solidarity &amp; an uprising; it's a long overdue wake up call to unify, become active, to become aware, and to be heard. Too many of my peers and younger friends are uneducated about basic government. I hope this sparks a movement to learn &amp; be involved.<br><br>I feel like the march is a good start and an important example.<br>To not despair, to literally and metaphorically march on...to pick our heads up no matter what "side" we're on and show ALL of our leaders that we will be heard and we are looking out for the best interest of&nbsp;<br>1) the people who have defended our country and still sacrifice their lives for our freedom and safety<br>2) the health of our ailing planet &amp; its people<br>3) our kids...our future generations who are watching and listening.<br>I hope my own kids are a lot more interested, involved, and educated about our system than I ever was.&nbsp;<br>Wow.<br>That was long. Whoops.<br>This is not a goofy whirlwind girls day out in DC...I hope you feel better about me going.<br>There's a calculated risk in just about anything worth doing &amp; I learned that from the best.<br>Love,<br>Kim&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Upon hitting "send", I knew I'd sleep better, albeit not much with my alarm set for 3:30am.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i>Edit: his response the next morning was an enthusiastic "go for it!"</i></span></div><div>When I arrived in Washington (having traveled with five women I didn't know at all) there was an unmistakable buzz in the air...any anxiety I felt dissipated and gave way to excitement.</div><div>And pride.</div><div>I did not expect to be so at ease standing shoulder to shoulder with seas of people for hours on end, barely shuffling forward only to step back...and to the side...and forward again and again again.</div><div>All. Day. Long.</div><div>The organized <i>march </i>component of the March didn't even happen as anticipated because there were far too many of us.&nbsp;</div><div>When one of the six among my little group remarked that she was bummed we couldn't get close enough to see or hear the speakers, all I could say was,</div><div>"What an <i style="font-weight: bold;">awesome </i>problem to have. Don't you see?? There are too many of us!!"</div><div>Shortly after 1pm, when the march was supposed to commence, we found ourselves making our way from the capitol building to the Monument.</div><div>Marching <i>on the mall.</i></div><div>In that moment, it really hit me that we were indeed making history.</div><div>It's hard to describe what it felt like to be in such a vast crowd.</div><div>I never felt unsafe or unsteady or unsure.</div><div>In every direction, literally as far as the eye could see, were crowds teeming with women, men, kids, babies in strollers, toddlers on the shoulders of moms and dads, elderly women and men, hipsters, hippies, teens, teachers, people in wheelchairs, people of every color, people worshipping in various faiths, sorority sisters, chic/perfectly-coiffed women, cops, members of the National Guard, people holding witty/clever/smart/lewd/artistic/creative/rough-hewn/carefully made/outrageous signs, people chanting/drumming, people singing, people holding hands, people people people people people...</div><div>And yet, all was calm and positive and utterly, completely <b><i>peaceful.</i></b></div><div><b><i>&nbsp;</i></b></div><div>I left Washington feeling empowered.</div><div>Fired up.</div><div>Hopeful.</div><div>Proud.</div><div>I left Washington ready to take action; to organize, learn, <b><i>do.</i></b></div><div>I came home far more aware and forever changed.</div><div><img id="id_7a1d_626d_1e6_ac7f" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qWb95ROfnw8/WIZheMIuqOI/AAAAAAAAFw4/TaVXnU--FgI/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;">&nbsp;<br></div><div>And, kindly, to the detractors and doubters (I'm related to and friends with some of you):</div><div>Don't presume that I am naive or idealistic...try to see this without cynicism or judgement.</div><div>And please, don't call us (or our <i>hats) </i>ridiculous.</div><div>Thanks for reading.</div><div>Peace.</div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-58941298496127624952017-01-05T21:52:00.001-05:002017-01-05T21:52:56.048-05:00Hey There, New Year...I have misplaced my spark for writing.<div>2016 was the year my blog kinda faded away.</div><div>Even now, as I write this, I feel so...meh.</div><div>I'm eager to share my thoughts, but too busy/tired/lazy to do it here...or to sort it out in words relevant or meaningful enough to write.</div><div>For a while, I think my meds were numbing my creativity.</div><div>I'm okay with losing some of that (<i>if&nbsp;</i>it is just temporary) in the name of fixing myself.</div><div>Now I feel like a less sad/worrisome version of myself so I am hoping there will be room for something...else.</div><div>Something else to pour my energy into.</div><div><br></div><div>Anyway.</div><div>I rode my bike with my dad on New Years Day (also happens to be his birthday and it's become tradition to start the day with a ride).</div><div>The trails were muddy in some areas, but I was able to stay upright &amp; attack some tricky spots with confidence.</div><div>I hadn't touched my bike since OCTOBER.</div><div>In fact, I logged way more miles on foot than on two wheels for the year.</div><div><i>And </i>I only rode at Harmony Hill, the most local trails to me, all of 2016.</div><div>First year in ages without even one bike race.</div><div>First year ever that I didn't venture out to other trails or ride with groups.</div><div>I've noticed the less often I ride, the more efficient my effort is; I'm more inclined to ride aggressively and do everything I possibly can to not get off my bike to hike it or carry it over obstacles I know I should/can just ride over.</div><div>It's still incredibly fun and I'd love to get out there on my humble little hardtail more often in 2017.</div><div>Different trails and hopefully with my husband.</div><div>Other than that, I don't feel like reflecting on the past year here beyond:</div><div><ul><li>I ran many, many miles with a fantastic group of friends, with my dad, with my son, and by myself . I am a runner, no getting around it anymore.</li><li>I painted and drew and shared and sold my art; that felt great. I will keep moving forward with that endeavor. It deserves more of my attention.</li><li>I tried hard to maintain strong ties with my brother, still incarcerated until at least 2018. There have been times I have needed him last year and simply just couldn't connect, which is frustrating and sad. Our family has changed <i style="font-weight: bold;">so </i>much since he began serving time in 2013 and it feels lonely to not have each other's backs right now.</li><li>For now, I am not in therapy...I feel so fortunate to have found a psychologist that I click with. It's been two and a half years since I started treatment; this past year I have really grown to understand the cycle and nuances of depression. I feel better prepared than ever to handle the inevitable lows. Knowing that I can pick right back up with therapy whenever I need to, without shame or embarrassment, is more comforting than I can describe.</li><li>My kids are growing up so freaking fast. I feel like an absolute farce of an adult/parent sometimes for being responsible for these two awesome children...it is equal parts <i>what the fuck am I doing please don't let me screw them up too much </i>and <i>Damn! I am pretty great at this.</i></li></ul>That sums up what I feel most strongly about, looking back <i>and </i>looking ahead.</div><div>2017 will mark my TENTH year blogging, or "hardtale-ing", as it were.</div><div>I'd love to come back here more often.</div><div>Thank you for reading, always.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-34398900529709147572016-10-23T15:10:00.001-04:002016-10-23T15:51:15.919-04:00The Taper is Real/Personal ShitAgainst my psych's wishes, I'm tapering off one of my meds (Zoloft, if you are nosy like me &amp; have to know).<div>I can get into the hows &amp; whys in another post (and probably should, for my own sake; writing helps, sharing helps). In short, I'm happy about the decision, but the process is a little rough.</div><div>Next.</div><div>Running/racing...</div><div>I've been doing that <i>a lot.&nbsp;</i></div><div>Yesterday, I bundled up &amp; headed out for a local trail 5k with my dad.</div><div>Had he not generously pre-reg'd me, I would've bailed. I wasn't feeling great and wasn't into it. Usually I am all about muddy, windy, wet conditions, but yesterday? &nbsp;Not so much.</div><div>With twenty minutes to go until the start, I downed two advil &amp; sulked in the car forgoing my usual warm-up. My head was pounding &amp; I was debating pulling the plug.</div><div>After a quick phone call to my husband, I decided to line up &amp; see how I felt. I had no qualms about bagging it if that's how it was going to play out.</div><div>(Needless to say, I started <i>and</i> finished)</div><div>With .5 mile to go, I finally caught up to my dad &amp; hung on behind him (shielding myself from the brutal wind). As we approached the finish, I pleaded, "dad, please don't sprint me."</div><div>To which he replied, "nah, we'll finish together."</div><div>(And we did)</div><div>The race wasn't awesome...I never quite found my rhythm or shook my headache.</div><div>But, I crossed the line with BP &amp; honestly, that was the silver lining/best part of an otherwise very bleak week.</div><div>Last night, I got a text from him saying I ended up 3rd in my age group (and beat him by a second).</div><div>Just another day of literally &amp; metaphorically putting one foot in front of the other, even when the easy thing to do would be staying in &amp; putting those feet up.</div><div><br></div><div>Peace out, homies...happy Sunday!</div><div>(My apologies for not editing/revising this post; I'm sure the five people who read this will understand)</div><div><img id="id_5783_416_2eb2_ba44" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-IasTP_RoKCw/WA0UsqTyZgI/AAAAAAAAFwY/2PcSGaHEDDU/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;">&nbsp;<br></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-65765576567269906282016-10-16T22:07:00.001-04:002016-10-16T22:07:41.760-04:00On coincidence, serendipity, running, and reading Weird chain of events today...follow me, if you will, while I tick through them:<div><ul><li>Discovered my nook was dead this morning (it belonged to my mom &amp; I have been reading books on it for the past two years)</li><li>While showering after a four mile run, I thought about books. What book I should read next. Thought about revisiting one of my mom's favorites (one of mine, too, actually), John Irving's <u>The World According to Garp.</u>&nbsp;I read it as a teenager and wondered what my take on it would be now, a seemingly lifetime later.</li><li>Upon collapsing into bed very early this evening (8:28pm early), gave my nook one more try. Nope. Dead. Decided to finally pick up the copy of Born to Run by Christopher McDougall purchased roughly a year ago (recommended by my brother of all people; not a runner, but an avid incarcerated reader).</li><li>Eleven pages in, the author references Garp. Motherfucking Garp. How about <i>that??</i></li></ul>Serendipity, at its finest (or something, right?)...</div><img id="id_6d5d_1b37_5b59_66ac" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Q-rdl9KVfc0/WAQybHCvHBI/AAAAAAAAFwI/GBaZmVSfC_A/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;">&nbsp;<div><br></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-88937700427475522182016-08-05T23:24:00.001-04:002016-08-05T23:24:57.746-04:00LostThis is what I'm reduced to when given the blessing to enjoy a child-free weekend at the beach with two very dear, very fun girlfriends.<div><img id="id_5a85_1d31_e0e4_ef2" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-llTbP2ms50M/V6VYiOcQXRI/AAAAAAAAFvg/9qvm9231uDI/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;">&nbsp;Ginger beer (no, it is not alcoholic). Mini Animal Crackers. A generous dollop of Nutella. And the December 2015 issue of Vogue. Because that is how far behind I am.<br></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-36892670941961874282016-07-13T22:55:00.001-04:002016-07-13T22:55:54.515-04:00ProlificI need to be careful when I get in these...modes? Bouts? Grooves?<div>I am in creative wonderland.</div><div>It doesn't happen often, but when it does...</div><div>I. Just. Can't. Stop.</div><div>All I want to do is draw &amp; paint.</div><div>I can't ignore life's responsibilies; kids, husband, basic hygiene, eating, sleeping.</div><div>But.</div><div>I sure would like to sometimes.</div><div>It's hard to just stop.</div><div>So, I find my time late at night, early in the morning, and I even outsource childcare, selfishly.&nbsp;</div><div>(Not often, but it has happened &amp; I have a hard time justifying it)</div><div>All in the name of feeding my habit.</div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-1483608253948494942016-06-27T21:43:00.001-04:002016-06-27T21:43:53.145-04:00InspiredTook a break from making/painting/creating...<div>Suddenly, the urge has moved me to get back to it.</div><div>Like now.</div><div>So, in between home projects, kid stuff, summertime adventures, and getting sweaty, I am going to create some cool shit.</div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-74871025171207349402016-06-25T22:14:00.001-04:002016-06-25T22:14:50.421-04:00Late JuneApproaching June 27th, I feel anxious &amp; sad.<div>That day will mark two years since my mom died.</div><div>And while I think of that day plenty of other times during the year, it seems to kinda punch me in the gut right about now.</div><div>Sometimes I get stuck on one piece of that day.</div><div>What her breath sounded like after the machines were shut off.</div><div>What her skin felt like when I laid my head next to her arm on the hospital bed.</div><div>What color shoes (cute cobalt flats) one of the residents was wearing during rounds.</div><div>Sometimes I get stuck on what happened in the days that followed her death.</div><div>People showing up &amp; taking over.&nbsp;</div><div>Me going through my mom's stuff &amp; feeling like a thief (ridiculous).</div><div>"Isn't it too soon?" I'd ask my dad as he lovingly encouraged me to take whatever I wanted.</div><div>Dresses &amp; shoes that I had borrowed from her.</div><div>Because she had cool style (without even trying).</div><div>A pair of teeny tiny diamond studs that I had given to her years before.</div><div>That part of the aftermath was almost exciting (sounds weird, but it's true); holding tangible pieces of Mare, smelling her...having her, essentially.</div><div>Sharing beloved pieces with family &amp; friends, holding things aside for my brother, for our kids.</div><div>I really do try to wear something that belonged to my mom everyday.</div><div>Lately, &nbsp;it's a particular ring; sterling silver thin band with tiny carved zig zags on either side of a delicate opal chip (smaller than a pin head). I wear it on my right hand, middle finger &amp; barely know it's there. It's that perfect.</div><div><br></div><div>But, I didn't mean to go on &amp; on about my mom's "stuff."</div><div>I was actually going to write about choosing her funeral garb; that was a weird process &amp; my dad left it pretty much up to my discretion.</div><div>I found it odd &amp; sort of funny that the funeral director, Ron, told me to include undergarments.</div><div>The dress was easy...I chose a long silk shift she wore to my first wedding. I was with her when<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">&nbsp;</span>she found it and it was perfect for her. That was a fun shopping day &amp; I really miss shopping with my mom (probably the only person I really truly enjoyed shopping with).</div><div>Pale green, ankle length with delicate embroidered &amp; beaded flowers randomly scattered.</div><div>For shoes, I chose champagne flats that she had worn the previous weekend to a neighbor's daughter's wedding. I remember stopping by that day as she was getting ready. It was the first time I'd seen her dressed up in a long time &amp; she wanted me to help her decide which shoes. My mom always wore flats, lest she'd almost surpass my dad's height in heels. Her hair looked awesome that afternoon &amp; I made a mental note to borrow that dress (ironically, I wore it just a few weeks later to her funeral). Is that irony? I always feel like I get that wrong.</div><div>Anyway.</div><div>Stockings, pretty underpinnings...a loose shrug/wrap (the dress was sleeveless) to hide all the IV marks. Her wedding band. And a locket (within the locket, tiny photos of her three grand babies).</div><div>Hair was done naturally, with that casual swoop &amp; tucked behind an ear (no earrings; my mom had a thing about other people touching her ears). A Clinique berry lipstick that was in her purse. Just mascara.</div><div>My mom wore very sparse makeup. She didn't need any.</div><div>Although the funeral was closed-casket, our immediate family had the option to view her before visitation commenced.</div><br><div><br></div><div>First, I went in alone &amp; placed some items in her casket.&nbsp;</div><div>She looked...dead.</div><div>But, serene. Beautiful. And like my mom.</div><div>She still looked like my mom (which was quite jarring, yet such a relief).</div><div>Next, I brought Max in (he wanted to). I'm sure he grew up a little faster in a way I wasn't ready for in that moment.&nbsp;</div><div>(But, we don't get to choose such moments)</div><div>And that was that.</div><div>Ron closed the casket &amp; that was the last time I saw her in the flesh.</div><div><br></div><div>So, the date is looming...just two days away.</div><div>And I'll mark the day much like I did last year</div><div>I'll go to the Oaklands, I'll enjoy some of her favorite things, listen to some of her favorite songs...(but, I do these things often...and some of her favorites have become my favorites, too).</div><div><br></div><div>Bit o Honey</div><div>Ashes to Ashes</div><div>Gray Aerie sweatpants</div><div>Jeopardy</div><div>The Sound of Music</div><div>Scrabble</div><div>Sapphires</div><div>Thunderstorms</div><div>Pulling weeds (SIKE! I HATE pulling weeds)</div><div>...just to name a few</div><div><br></div><div>I don't know a better way to wrap up this meandering post than that little list.</div><div>xo</div>&nbsp;<img id="id_30a9_59df_f25a_1125" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3RSsZ4CQTXs/V286mDTRaBI/AAAAAAAAFvI/0F0K-ukoRKI/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto; margin: 4px;">&nbsp;<img id="id_ba1f_e8c2_adb9_f676" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-EjvmBozNiYI/V286mTujdVI/AAAAAAAAFvQ/pIrXGMQ8Fc0/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;">&nbsp;Screenshots, yepKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-75798680874113506992016-06-09T17:42:00.001-04:002016-06-09T17:42:39.609-04:00Growing up, moving on...<div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Today my son graduates fifth grade and leaves behind the elementary school that he knows &amp; loves.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">All the assholes who tell you "it goes by too fast," are right. "Cherish every little moment because they grow up so quickly!" Is a sentiment oft repeated, especially to newbie parents. I say: it's fine to not cherish every moment. It's fine to regard the first days (first years, even) as boot camp/purgatory/the hardest thing you've ever done. Whoever tells you "it gets easier" is full of shit. It does NOT get easier. It gets trickier, it gets crazier, but it does gets A LOT more fun. Kids are messy, moody, challenging, mischievous, wild, emotional, dramatic, funny, ridiculous, tiring, and stubborn (but, so are we). Homework is even worse the second time around if you're anything like me &amp; sucked at that sort of thing when you were a kid. BUT, you get to watch your kid discover what they're into as they plow through elementary school at lightning&nbsp;</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">speed (cliche 100%, but true)...you get to see them develop friendships (like our own, some will stick and some will fade)...you get to watch them handle challenges &amp; overcome hurdles (some seemingly petty, some huge &amp; important)...some kids will soar through their first chunk of academia with flying colors and unicorns and rainbows, while some will muddle through with lots of tears and frustration. Hopefully most kids fall somewhere in the middle and approach middle school with a genuine love of learning tempered with a healthy dose of humility. I'm pretty sure that's the direction Max is headed &amp; I couldn't be happier for him.&nbsp;</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Congrats &amp; best wishes to *all* the classes of 2016!</span></div><img id="id_d125_ee71_d4a0_f8c1" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-KyqXicZ5W9s/V1nizm02VsI/AAAAAAAAFu4/eSolBEJn_ww/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 353px; height: auto;">&nbsp;Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-77283809289777727022016-04-17T22:52:00.001-04:002016-04-17T22:52:50.011-04:00The best & the broken<br />
<br /><div>
Yesterday, I had therapy &amp; it wasn't terribly "productive"; rather than working on stuff, it was more like 50 minutes of pleasant chatting.</div>
<div>
Which is awesome because that means at the moment I don't have stuff to work on.</div>
<div>
Yes, I'm cranky about my temporary lack of activity.</div>
<div>
It's temporary &amp; it's completely out of my control &amp; accidents just simply happen.</div>
<div>
And cranky is a million times easier to deal with than depressed or anxious.</div>
<div>
Cranky is a mood, not a looming cloud or ugly void.</div>
<div>
Oddly enough, the turning point for me just happened to be on my birthday even though it began with an injury.</div>
<div>
It's been a full week of an inexplicable shift in my mood...a lightness that I can't explain &amp; don't really care to.</div>
<div>
And I'm not going to waste any time wondering or waiting for it to pass, because maybe it won't.</div>
<div>
And if it does, I will deal with it.</div>
<div>
I'm getting better at that.</div>
<img alt="" id="id_b612_e5b4_d191_d7e8" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-RVNFcuzZEuo/VxEgFnLl0OI/AAAAAAAAFug/WXBpJMEpfqw/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" style="height: auto; width: 353px;" title="" /><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Oh, and at therapy, the news of my dad &amp; Cary's recent engagement came up.<br />
Not in a "ugh my dad is getting married and I'm freaking out how do I deal with this?" kind of way; more like, "Oh. And my dad and Cary got engaged and her ring is so beautiful and they're so excited. It's awesome!!" kind of thing.<br />
So after the aforementioned 50 minutes of chatting, we agreed that maybe we stretch it out between the next appointment. As much as I click with (and genuinely like) my shrink, I don't need to shell out mega bucks to sit in his office and exchange pleasantries about books I've read recently or how awesome things are lately.<br />
<br />
That was Thursday.<br />
By Friday night, I was in a weird &amp; manic sort of funk.<br />
Because I'm not doing anything physically challenging at the moment, I have all this pent up energy and it's finding weird ways to wend its way through my system...reminds me of nesting.<br />
I've been deep-cleaning the house, organizing drawers and cabinets, purging crap left and right, switching out art work on every possible wall space, rearranging shit. It's maddening, kinda.<br />
Our home has reached that dismal point where everything seems to look tired at once;<br />
the walls are dingy and mottled with hand prints, crayon marks, scuffs...the (hand-me-down) furniture is sagging and worn, the carpets are scratchy and developing tripping-hazard-sized mounds that need to be stretched tight (or ideally, replaced altogether)...<br />
So, while everything is tired, at least it is tidy, clean, and more organized by the day.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-53362792315929498042016-04-12T15:50:00.001-04:002016-04-12T15:50:37.167-04:00bustedOn my forty-first birthday, I busted my foot during the last quarter mile of my morning run.<br />
Like busted <i>busted </i>(the orthopedic doc strongly suspects it is broken; he wants an MRI in addition to the x-rays, but our insurance wants to hear that straight from the doc. Insurance, I am glad I have you, but you can go ahead and eat a dick).<br />
Tomorrow will be a week since I fell and I'd like to take this opportunity to pat myself on the back for keeping whining to a minimum and not dragging everyone else down with me.<br />
Some running goals have been squashed, but I'm surprisingly okay with that.<br />
I ran a solid 15k a few days before turning 41&amp; crossed the finish line with my bestie; while I wasn't setting the world on fire with my pace, I was truly stoked to begin logging miles in preparation for Broad Street (yep, I got selected in the lottery).<br />
Other than Broad Street, I really had my heart set on crushing the local trail series (and was well on my way with two age-group wins in the book) and possibly attaining a PR at what would've been my third half-marathon.<br />
Plans have changed.<br />
I've deferred my Broad Street entry to next year (smart move).<br />
I <i>might </i>be able to do a trail race at the tail end of the series, but am out of the running for an overall placing (it was super fun to chase points again, I'll admit it). &nbsp;<i> &nbsp;</i><br />
That's that blah blah blah...off my feet for a bit, but I'll be back.<br />
The good news is, I have been riding again. And I've been <i>loving </i>it.<br />
The timing is great, as I'm sure I'll be back in the saddle before I am back on my feet.<br />
Let's face it; it doesn't even feel like spring yet. The weather has been bullshit. I'm hardly missing anything.<br />
Maneuvering around on crutches has proven to be a tough upper-body/core workout.<br />
Nothing is hindering my ability to do any cross-training that doesn't involve my feet or ankles.<br />
So, it's fine.<br />
This is truly nothing.<br />
(I mean, insurance sure doesn't think a broken foot is important, so...)<br />
<br />
I love running.<br />
I love running alone.<br />
I love running with my friends.<br />
I love running in the woods...on pavement. In the rain (when it's not cold rain).<br />
In a sea of racers (though I do NOT like the crowds before the race actually starts).<br />
In the dark morning, through town by the glow of street lights, sometimes the moon, our headlamps, various blinky safety lights.<br />
I love the rush of endorphins, the good stretch after a long run, the Epsom soak to thank my legs for being strong...<br />
I love to run.<br />
<br />
I also love to write and paint and cook and play with my kids and watch movies at home by the fire and hang out with my friends and plenty of other shit to keep me busy while I nurse another silly injury.<br />
<br />
<br />Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-65688878717189575402016-04-05T10:59:00.000-04:002016-04-05T10:59:36.207-04:00on this last day of my fortieth year (bahahahahahahahahaha!!) I don't have the energy to reflect on this shit...<br />
I'm forty-ONE tomorrow.<br />
My Angry Elevens are far more prominent than they were a year ago (so what?).<br />
I'm pretty much blonde to cover the gray (I imagine this is how my mom became a blonde, too; though, unlike me, she totally looked like a <i>natural blonde</i>).<br />
I don't know...other than that, I'm happy to be here.<br />
I still feel young, sometimes naive, more often than not wise, and not at all hung up on "aging."<br />
Women my age are fast and strong.<br />
And some are even beautiful.<br />
That's all. The end (of that).<br />
<br />
More importantly, the day after my birthday, Bill and I will celebrate our fourth year of being hitched.<br />
<i>That</i>&nbsp;still feels new most of the time.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-50309083887419118772016-03-27T18:09:00.001-04:002016-03-27T18:09:55.095-04:00Hello<img alt="" id="id_d581_e1f0_df71_f0a5" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0ZxzR3Qo2Lc/VvhSWYo7QpI/AAAAAAAAFuM/GmL4ueqv3Ng/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" style="height: auto; width: 353px;" title="" />It's been a while.<br />
<div>
I'm sharing a photo of my children sound asleep in their bedroom at my dad's beach house.</div>
<div>
Sometimes I feel like the laziest/least patient/shortest-fused/moody/incapable/failing parent in the whole world.</div>
<div>
Obviously, an exaggeration; but, one I believe most parents can easily relate to.</div>
<div>
Yes, my kids are fed, clothed, loved. Sheltered. Warm. Educated. Basic needs are met and then some. Yay!</div>
<div>
Yet...like all (most? Some? Help me out here...), I'm super-critical of my parenting foibles and quick to highlight my missteps, when I should revel in the right or good or commendable things I'm doing for my kids.</div>
<div>
Anyway.</div>
<div>
I had this brilliant idea of escaping to the beach for Easter weekend.&nbsp;</div>
<div>
Any semblance of Easter traditions or rituals have all but disappeared since my mom died (which isn't saying much, as we've never made it a big deal; nor, are we a religious family). Easter has always meant celebrating springtime (blooming dandelions, pink trees come to life, bunnies hopping through the yard), candy, and hunting for hidden eggs. I don't know if I've dyed eggs with Max ever.</div>
<div>
Our Easter baskets are modest compared to what I've seen posted on various social media by friends &amp; strangers alike.</div>
<div>
Anyway (again).</div>
<div>
We visited my brother in Coal Township Friday morning (Good Friday, as it were). Two hours in the car with two kids and admittedly paltry snacks, yet they behaved beautifully with zero complaint.</div>
<div>
The visit went well.</div>
<div>
My brother was so happy to see all four of us together. He &amp; Max bonded over Max's detailed rundown of Batman v Superman (spoilers encouraged by Rob)...we caught up, reminisced about my dad's various road rage incidents that may or may not have informed some small part of our childhood, talked about art and music and food and family and jail.</div>
<div>
The usual.</div>
<div>
We departed before the kids got antsy and began our three-plus hour trek to the beach.</div>
<div>
Again, the kids were awesome.</div>
<div>
I declared the remainder of our Holiday Weekend "Plan-free. No agenda."</div>
<div>
We basically followed the kids' lead; walk to the beach after dinner? Yes. Go to the place with the Easter bunny for breakfast? Sure. Visit the boardwalk &amp; spend what seems like eternity in the comic shop? Absolutely? Eat tacos for dinner? No problem.</div>
<div>
Maeve was insistent on playing at the beach Saturday morning &amp; I indulged her for as long as she was willing (gusty winds, forty degree temps). Luckily, that amounted to mere minutes.</div>
<div>
Friday night, we watched Overboard &amp; most of National Lampoon's Vacation with Max after Maeve went to sleep. Max wanted to sleep on the couch with the tv on. "Sure, go for it."</div>
<div>
I kept saying to Bill, "they're really being so good."&nbsp;</div>
<div>
(As if they're usually mischievous heathens; they're not, by the way).</div>
<div>
Max and I caught a cold which leveled me the better part of Saturday afternoon.&nbsp;</div>
<div>
Because the Bunny had baskets to fill, we encouraged Max to share the room with his sister at bedtime.</div>
<div>
I was expecting whining &amp; arguing (he likes the door open &amp; lights on; she likes the fan loud &amp; room dark, door shut).</div>
<div>
They compromised together &amp; we could faintly hear them talking. No idea what they were chatting about and I refrained from eavesdropping...the chatter was short-lived, as they both crashed out. Exhausted &amp; deep into that wonderful slumber one can only fall into at the beach...damn, it's good to be a kid.</div>
<div>
I peeked in before basket-filling could commence &amp; gave myself the metaphorical pat-on-the-back for a job well done.</div>
<div>
The night light was on, fan on medium, and door cracked slightly.</div>
<div>
Compromise &amp; consideration, all on their own.</div>
<div>
Lately I get more than I give; to my spouse, to my kids, to our life.</div>
<div>
I'm in &amp; out of sickness, adjusting to meds, taking more time for myself than I deserve or even need (running, painting, sleeping)...I can see my husband is stretched thin/juggling/picking up all sorts of slack all while providing for us &amp; driving a shitty commute day after day after day.</div>
<div>
Even during this holiday weekend, when he probably needs a break more than any of us, he is taking care of me once again.</div>
<div>
As we assemble our kids' Easter baskets (and dig into our new addiction, Cadbury WHITE CHOCOLATE mini eggs; don't knock them til you try them), I thank him and apologize for being a slacker.</div>
<div>
We're in this together, always, he reminds me.</div>
<div>
It was a good Plan-free Easter weekend.</div>
<div>
We didn't quite reset or rejuvenate, but those weren't really our expectations anyway.</div>
<div>
We set out to simply connect with my brother, enjoy a change of scenery, unplug from our devices, and follow the whims of our kids.</div>
<div>
Now we are home.</div>
<div>
I am riding out a fever &amp; chucking lots of tissues into the trash from my bed.</div>
<div>
Bill is piecing together a makeshift Easter dinner for himself &amp; the kids.</div>
<div>
Maeve is grumpy from a day that began at 6am with way more candy than any little kid should consume in one sitting (whose idea was the trail of jelly beans??).</div>
<div>
Max is stuffy and sniffling on the couch, completely wrapped up in a new animator app on his phone.</div>
<div>
I hope they had fun &amp; I hope they remember these impromptu adventures when their parents say "yes!" more than "no" or "not right now" or "maybe."</div>
<div>
I hope they find ways to connect when they're grown and have their own families; however, I hope when they reminisce, they're not doing so over vending machine snacks &amp; soda in a prison visiting room.</div>
<div>
I hope they remember the trail of jelly beans and bunny pancakes and playing together, but I also hope they remember visiting their uncle in jail; I hope they pull those experiences from their memory banks when they're in the throes of making tricky decisions.</div>
<div>
So, there it is.</div>
<div>
Good job.</div>
<div>
Well done.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-48069419793832907242016-02-10T22:37:00.001-05:002016-02-10T22:37:20.308-05:00HomesickSometimes.<div>Sometimes the kids destroy me &amp; I long for a minute. A pause.</div><div>"Just...give me a minute. Please."</div><div>Sometimes my little girl says,</div><div>"You be the little girl. I'll be the mommy."</div><div>"Okay," I say.</div><div>"I'll play with you after I drink my tea. Just give me a minute."</div><div>Sometimes it's long after they've gone to sleep.</div><div>And my husband is asleep.</div><div>And I <i>should </i>be asleep.</div><div>And I'm reading my book.</div><div>And my son comes into the room, awake from a bad dream or my daughter cries out for who knows what or why...</div><div>And sometimes I am exasperated.</div><div>But, tonight I'm not.</div><div>Tonight my son has hives for no apparent reason and my daughter woke up crying because she was thirsty.</div><div>I'm into my book and I'm so so tired.</div><div>But, exasperated is not how I feel.</div><div>Instead I am equal parts homesick &amp; grateful.&nbsp;</div><div><br></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-77515582730166365292016-01-28T17:46:00.001-05:002016-01-28T17:54:57.159-05:00This still happens sometimes<ul class="_mo9iw _pnraw" data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1" style="margin: 0px 0px 7px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; -webkit-box-flex: 1; -webkit-flex-grow: 1;"><li class="_nk46a" data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; position: relative; word-wrap: break-word;"><h1 data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0" style="font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-4ySaAYW5P1g/VqqaJFbu8UI/AAAAAAAAFt0/PpTAo942Pxc/s640/blogger-image-1698971618.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-4ySaAYW5P1g/VqqaJFbu8UI/AAAAAAAAFt0/PpTAo942Pxc/s640/blogger-image-1698971618.jpg"></a></div>&nbsp;Yesterday was a super shitty day &amp; I had one too many "I just want my mom" moments.&nbsp;</span></span></span></font></h1><h1 data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0" style="font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">Luckily, she's never far from me and it's pretty easy to conjure her (metaphorical) spirit. When you watch somebody you love die, it's impossible to unsee those last moments. It was really hard to see my beautiful, youthful mom literally crumble, unravel, and...die.&nbsp;</span></span></span></font></h1><h1 data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">Physically, it's quite jarring and kinda scary and ugly. It's hard to unsee it, but I also have 39 years full...bursting-at-the-seams-full, of images like these (the ones above; dancing on NYE Mom, Snowshoeing Mom, Dressed for her grandson's birthday party Mom, chillin on the beach Cool Mom...and so many, many </span><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>many </i>more, thank god).</span></span></span></font></h1><div><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><br></span></span></span></font></div><h1 data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0" style="font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">If you knew my mom, I bet you can still hear her laugh...I bet you can still picture her grooving to her favorite songs...I bet you can envision her face light up when you enter the room.&nbsp;</span></span></span></font></h1><h1 data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0" style="font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">Because if you knew Mare, I bet you were one of her favorite people. Her heart was big enough for everyone...and then some.&nbsp;</span></span></span></font></h1><h1 data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0" style="font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">See? Wherever she is, she is still finding ways to pick me up when I'm down.&nbsp;</span></span></span></font></h1><h1 data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0" style="font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">Love you, mom. xo</span></span></span></font></h1><div><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><br></span></span></span></font></div><div><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><br></span></span></span></font></div><div><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">And.</span></span></span></font></div><div><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">Thank you, mom.</span></span></span></font></div><div><font color="#000000"><span style="font-size: 17px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;">I'm quite sure she is the one who made me pay really close attention to all the normal, everyday </span><span data-reactid=".0.1.0.0.0.2.1.0.0.1.1" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; border: 0px; font-variant: inherit; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>stuff </i>so that someday I would be able to enjoy this gift and never be longing or searching for memories.</span></span></span></font></div><div><br></div></li></ul>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-34280490482138793392016-01-03T22:15:00.001-05:002016-01-03T22:15:29.256-05:00And a happy new year...<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-nYWyU_gyzFg/VonjugdzOgI/AAAAAAAAFtU/qg83_XegBkQ/s640/blogger-image-2020469487.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-nYWyU_gyzFg/VonjugdzOgI/AAAAAAAAFtU/qg83_XegBkQ/s640/blogger-image-2020469487.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_1vc4FxfeB8/VonjrpYtxhI/AAAAAAAAFtM/MwLwvdH7WCc/s640/blogger-image--882394681.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_1vc4FxfeB8/VonjrpYtxhI/AAAAAAAAFtM/MwLwvdH7WCc/s640/blogger-image--882394681.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-pFIBRQLMIkg/VonjxfKjpJI/AAAAAAAAFtc/Fj8LaG4jvpQ/s640/blogger-image--1432635727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-pFIBRQLMIkg/VonjxfKjpJI/AAAAAAAAFtc/Fj8LaG4jvpQ/s640/blogger-image--1432635727.jpg"></a></div><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_1vc4FxfeB8/VonjrpYtxhI/AAAAAAAAFtM/MwLwvdH7WCc/s640/blogger-image--882394681.jpg"></div><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-nYWyU_gyzFg/VonjugdzOgI/AAAAAAAAFtU/qg83_XegBkQ/s640/blogger-image-2020469487.jpg"></div>Spent New Years Eve in Ocean City (on the short list of my happy places) with my dad, his gal, my family, and my bestie &amp; her crew.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We ate delicious food, listened (and of course danced) to good tunes, played Heads Up, drank Prosecco (cut mine with pomegranate juice, so as to increase my odds of making it to midnight), laughed, dodged wily toddlers, and basically made merry.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As midnight struck, we popped a bottle of bubbly, kissed our respective beloveds, toasted to 2016, and wished BP a happy birthday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">At 12:01, Lindsay &amp; I gleefully (drunkenly?) headed out for our first run of 2016. We dashed to the beach, paused for a shot of Cuervo, caught the last few fireworks, then hustled back to the house.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Upon thawing out, we all sang happy birthday to my dad &amp; proceeded to demolish the delicious spice cake.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It was a lovely, low key evening (maybe we broke up a few toddler brawls, but that's nothing...the girls were content to jump on the bed and the boys commiserated about whatever preteen boys with endless common threads commiserate about).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I made it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">2016, let's be healthy first &amp; foremost, okay? Health begets happiness, so let's strive for that.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">2016, let's preserve some of our amazing memories. How about we take lots of pictures &amp; print them out?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">2016, let's get creative &amp; make art. Let's hustle and sell some art.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">2016, let's get our shit together. How about we replace that janky window that is about to fall out of the house? How about we try even harder not to live hand to mouth, paycheck-to-paycheck? Nobody needs that stress.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">2016, let's keep running running running, but let's get on the bike, too. Even better, how about riding <i>together</i>?? (Me &amp; my love)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">2016, let's be great parents. Potty training sucks. Giving up the binky sucks. Nagging about homework &amp; hygiene sucks. How about we try something else because the current situation is wearing us down (kids included)?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">2016, let's chill the fuck out. How about we enjoy our blessings instead of counting them? You never know what tomorrow brings, let alone a whole year, so let's take it day by day. Okay?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cool.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Happy Happy <i>Happy </i>New Year! xo</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-SIcnjlO2aVM/Vonj0NJuyxI/AAAAAAAAFtk/G3kZAHmb61U/s640/blogger-image-1839542095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-SIcnjlO2aVM/Vonj0NJuyxI/AAAAAAAAFtk/G3kZAHmb61U/s640/blogger-image-1839542095.jpg"></a></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-80684918096726066192015-12-26T14:09:00.001-05:002015-12-26T14:09:44.878-05:00We wish you a Merry Christmas...<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We gave my mom such shit every time she wore her Christmas chucks...they became slightly more tolerable after she cut the jingle bells off...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Now they're mine and obviously I think they're awesome.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I've got my Christmas spirit back this year thanks to my amazing husband, friends, and family.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Jingle jingle jingle&nbsp;</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-mi_cRDBqhgQ/Vn7l97K9YlI/AAAAAAAAFs8/ZaIoMRDmZhY/s640/blogger-image-572297525.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-mi_cRDBqhgQ/Vn7l97K9YlI/AAAAAAAAFs8/ZaIoMRDmZhY/s640/blogger-image-572297525.jpg"></a></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-7703530287432243432015-12-19T22:23:00.001-05:002015-12-19T22:23:19.306-05:00Just a few thoughtsCan't believe this is the third Christmas(time) without my brother...<div>I really miss holiday shenanigans with him.</div><div>I can't wait til he's out and I get at least one piece of my family back.</div><div>Yes, the kids make this&nbsp;time of year exciting and magical and fun;</div><div>It's tough, too, though.</div><div>Maeve was scrawling on a Christmas card from a neighbor &amp; saying "Love, Grammy...right, mommy? It says love Grammy."</div><div>So sweet and unexpected.</div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-70544198322983376682015-12-17T22:31:00.001-05:002015-12-18T07:29:52.993-05:00The Talk (well, one of them...)Delivering Christmas cards to our neighbor's mailboxes tonight, Max and I commenced our usual end-of-day big idea/silly questions/ponderings/worries/chit chat...<div>One house had two green bulbs illuminating their porch lights.</div><div>"Do you think they switched them out because they're pro-legal-marijuana?"</div><div>He asked (in the eleven year-old <i>I'm kind of joking but actually want to know about something </i>manner).</div><div>Pause.</div><div>"And Grampy's porch lights are red because he's Anti?"</div><div><i>Um. Whuttttttt?? Bwhahahaha...</i></div><div>Doing my best to stifle all kinds of snide remarks &amp; honor his curiosity without making him feel like an ass (it's paramount to hone this particular skill as a parent from the get go, just a heads up),</div><div>I replied, "Well, I'm guessing the red &amp; green light bulbs have more to do with <i>Christmas </i>than you know, their stance on the legalization or decriminalization of marijuana."</div><div>"Right. Mom, do you know there are a lot of names for it?" (<i>Max, for real? We're going there?)</i></div><div><i>"</i>Mom, there's, like, tons. Weed. Reefer. Mary Jane. Ganja...pot..."</div><div>I thought better of adding to his list.&nbsp;</div><div><i>Side note: weed has come up quite a bit in polite conversation in our family; it's no secret that Uncle Rob is in the clink for a loooooong ass time because of his irresponsible dalliances with weed, coupled with our antiquated &amp; twisted legal system. We've talked about it at length. I have been talking to my kid about drugs and alcohol for a long time. I don't want him to be scared to ask questions or approach me or somebody he trusts in our family when he is confronted with a situation. I want him to understand consequences, responsibility...plainly, I want him to know.&nbsp;</i></div><div><i>Growing up, my parents (my dad in particular) were completely open &amp; transparent when it came to all things drug (and alcohol).</i></div><div><i>While there were times in my childhood that left me scared or conflicted (worried that my parents were "bad" because they smoked a little weed sometimes), my big takeaway was quite simple..</i></div><div><i>It's not enough to drill into kids </i>Just Say No <i>(which was the big tenet when we started talking about &amp; learning about drugs in school).</i></div><div><i>My dad told me about bad trips &amp; scrapes with the law near Mexico...he told me about a cousin that was never the same after a bad experience with acid. He lamented about friends who never got away from "occasional" cocaine use. He taught me to be responsible &amp; take control. He taught me </i><b><i>how</i></b><i> to say no and <b>how</b> not to get caught up in that crap in the first place.</i></div><div><i>Mostly, he instilled a sense of trust...he trusted me with some pretty personal &amp; compelling information from a young age. In turn, I took those lessons and dialogs to heart and chose not do anything harmful that would disappoint my parents.</i></div><div><i>I was taught to look at the big picture (and perhaps because of my anxious nature, I was simply scared to mess with my biochemistry or do harm to my distant future unborn children...seriously, I worried about that shit. Ecstasy?? No way...what if it messes with my DNA? What if I snap? Pills? HELL no. And so on and so on...snorting anything? Are you serious? And ruin my already wacky sinuses? You want me to put WHAT up my nose?! I'm so clumsy &amp; awkward, I'd probably do it wrong. Not to mention buggin out...).</i></div><div><i>Anyway.</i></div><div><i>Weed.&nbsp;</i></div><div><i>Back to The Talk...</i></div><div><i>"</i>You can ask me anything, any time, and I'll answer you honestly, hopefully in a way that is easy to understand."</div><div>"Did you ever try it, mom?"</div><div>"Weed? Yes. In moderation. And I liked it if I was with the right people in a safe environment. I never got out of control with it."</div><div>"There are supposed to be, like, medical benefits. Like for cancer patients and stuff..." Max told me. "It can help with seizures and stuff. It's legal in some states, right?"</div><div>Which led to a frank conversation about laws and legislation and government and addiction and other drugs...</div><div>As a parent, one of my biggest fears is that my kid(s) will get wrapped up in some bad sh*t like pills (or, god forbid, heroin).&nbsp;</div><div>Hopefully, continuing to have these easy, honest talks will at least provoke some introspection. Maybe something will stick, maybe something will help them feel comfortable about making smart choices or...at least they'll know we can talk about it. About anything.</div><div>Raising children is terrifying &amp; awesome.</div><div><br></div><div>As we made our way back to our house, conversation flipped to the new Star Wars movie, Christmas break, candy...</div><div>(kid stuff).</div><div><br></div><div><i>Oh...and yes, I have reflected on the fact that my parents raised my brother &amp; I the same way and yes, one of us is incarcerated.&nbsp;</i></div><div><i>We were given the same tools/conversations/answers/experiences; it was up to us, as adults, to decide how we were going to handle it.</i></div><div><i>To imply my parents are somehow responsible for the choices he made is ludicrous.&nbsp;</i></div><div><i>And that is something I hope I </i><b>don't</b> <i>have to remind myself if my kids find themselves in the same kind of trouble someday.</i></div><div><br></div><div>How do you talk to <i>your </i>kids about drugs &amp; alcohol? How old were they when the dialog began? Would you have handled it differently? Have any insight? I'd love to hear your thoughts...</div><div><br></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-29667055273771127832015-12-10T22:52:00.001-05:002015-12-11T13:18:10.039-05:00How it goesYay! <i>(Loading bike into car)</i><div>Wait. Did it <i>rain </i>last night?</div><div>Yay! Yay! Yay! (<i>Pulling into parking lot, unloading bike)</i></div><div>This weather is crazy! Jacket? No jacket? Jacket.</div><div>Wrong gloves. Overkill.</div><div>No gloves? No, <i>wear </i>them.</div><div>(<i>Pedaling towards the woods excitedly)</i></div><div>Hmmmm. Kinda muddy, bummer.</div><div>I'll stay away from the lowers sections.</div><div><i>(Auto pilot commences. Immediately descend toward aforementioned lower section)</i></div><div>Reaaaaaaaaally muddy. I'm an asshole.</div><div>Slovenly sloth. That's what I feel like.</div><div>Fucking slow ass sloth.</div><div>Wait. I'm in the WOODS on my BIKE and this is FUN!</div><div>It's not fun.</div><div>I'm an asshole.</div><div>Quick, get to the paved path, asshole.</div><div><i>(Hits pavement, reluctantly...spots another asshole in periphery riding on wet, muddy trail. Wearing headphones. Not earbuds. Headphones. And no helmet. Triple asshole)</i></div><div>Decide: climb up road (the long way) back to car or take most direct route through woods?</div><div>Woods.</div><div>It'll be drier as I climb out.</div><div>It <i>is </i>drier.</div><div>I'm still slow and suffering. It has only been thirty five minutes.</div><div>Oh, look, a cardinal!</div><div>No bunnies.</div><div>No (visible) hunters!</div><div>Call it? It's been 37 minutes.</div><div>WTF.&nbsp;</div><div>I am overheating.</div><div>Why is the parking lot empty?</div><div>Do I have coffee money?</div><div>How come running fitness doesn't parlay into riding fitness?</div><div>This sucks.</div><div>I'm not having fun.</div><div>I want coffee.</div><div>And a hot shower.</div><div>I want my legs back.</div><div><br></div><div>And there you have it...first ride back in a while.</div><div>I found out the hard way that running on pavement often is pretty abusive on my body.</div><div>I need to mix it up &amp; focus on strength training/core work blah blah blah.</div><div>And.</div><div>I need to be patient.</div><div>And.</div><div>Two half-marathons just a few weeks apart probably wasn't the best idea I've ever had.</div><div><br></div><div>That's all I got.</div><div>(For today)</div><div><br></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-16929059045761024372015-12-06T16:39:00.001-05:002015-12-06T16:41:48.341-05:00Lazy Sunday or...I can't tell if I'm depressed, destroyed from yesterday, or getting sick.<div>Perhaps all of the above.</div><div>All I know is I've been in bed since 12:30 this afternoon and it's nearly 5.</div><div>I slept for three hours (after sleeping late this morning).</div><div>When I woke up from my "nap"/hibernation, I ate some Cheezits and drank a bottle of Goya coconut soda.</div><div>In bed.</div><div>Maybe yesterday was too much?</div><div>I woke up at 5am to run nine brisk miles in the freezing cold, barely ate anything after, and hightailed it to work at noon.</div><div>Later (still at work), I noticed I was breaking out in hives all over my face &amp; torso.</div><div>I hadn't eaten or drank anything different, so I have no idea what caused such a weird and sudden reaction.</div><div>For that matter, I didn't eat or drink <i>enough </i>after a nine mile run.&nbsp;</div><div>In any case, I took three little shots of liquid Benedryl and don't remember much after that.</div><div><i>Figures I'd be the fool who ODs on Benedryl. I'm so wild.&nbsp;</i></div><div>Thankfully, a coworker promptly brought me home and suffice it to say, my hives cleared up <i>and </i>I slept the night away.</div><div>Apparently, 25mg is the typical adult dosage &amp; I took roughly 5 times that (I don't know what chart <i>I </i>was reading).</div><div><br></div><div>Which brings me back to today.</div><div>My daughter is napping and my son isn't expected home for another hour, so I really don't feel the need to leave my bed.</div><div><br></div><div>I'm all for a lazy Sunday now and then, but this is a little ridiculous.</div><div>Thank god for my husband, the voice of reason who loves me despite my quirks &amp; flaws; I could not have handled today alone.</div><div><br></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-76375384795706366092015-11-25T21:05:00.001-05:002015-11-25T21:08:55.090-05:00Thank you<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I mean, nobody has a smile or laugh like her. I miss it. Last year I powered through the holidays...<i>you're so strong...you're handling this so well...your mom is proud...she is with you.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Sometimes those sentiments are comforting. Sometimes they make me feel like a fraud.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Really? Is waking up &amp; wanting to pawn your children off to just about anyone so you can have an epic break down in peace <i>handling this so well?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I know it's normal, I know grief comes &amp; goes...ebbs &amp; flows blah blah blah.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But, sometimes, she's really truly the only one I want to commiserate with. Banter with. Listen <i>to.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This is what I conjure in my head when I get stuck in the grim details of watching my mom die.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I mean, that was just one day that ended her life time of many, many days like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2FdLzVS7GMg/VlZo85dzOWI/AAAAAAAAFsc/MZO4W3B0heo/s640/blogger-image-2026681269.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-2FdLzVS7GMg/VlZo85dzOWI/AAAAAAAAFsc/MZO4W3B0heo/s640/blogger-image-2026681269.jpg"></a>So.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">While I sometimes fall into the tenuous, messy loop of that ugly day back in June 2014, I have countless...<i>countless...</i>memories &amp; images that I can tap into.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Countless people who have been touched by her kindness, her generous spirit, her goofy wit, her blunt wisdom.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Thank god for her.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And that, I think, is my Thanksgiving sentiment that I want to share with you;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">There's a tricky side of the holidays that leaves some (many?) of us heavy with loss and longing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Most of us have something funny or outrageous or meaningful or touching to look back on, so I guess...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Sit with the tricky part; settle into it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Just don't <i>sink </i>all the way down.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Be present, enjoy your loved ones, nourish your friendships, strengthen the ties that may have frayed over the year...let that pick you up and <i>hold</i> you up.&nbsp;</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Let <i>them</i>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Happy Thanksgiving...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">xo</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1033624532407473288.post-77113312926294931222015-11-23T16:36:00.001-05:002015-11-23T22:41:50.172-05:00IcandothatbetterOk.<div>Hi.</div><div>Yesterday I ran my second half-marathon.<div>Beat my time by 8 minutes.</div><div>How did that happen?</div><div>The course was harder, there were tons more people, and I started out feeling nervous &amp; unsure.</div><div><br></div><div>So, why? How? Eight minutes is pretty significant (considering my first half was just three weeks prior).</div><div>I'll tell you what happened.</div><div>I ran <i>with</i>&nbsp;two girls/teammates/friends (I think after you complete an event like that, literally alongside somebody, you move up from teammate to friend level...right?).</div><div>They pushed me every step of the way (or, I suppose <i>pulled, </i>as I was mainly the caboose of our little gang).&nbsp;</div><div>I didn't look at my garmin once; I've run shorter distances with these particular two women &amp; without much thought, I gave myself over to the process.</div><div>I trusted the process; the pace, as it were.</div><div>The last half mile was brutal...my left leg cramped badly.</div><div>If it weren't for my compatriots, I'm fairly certain I would've walked/limped to the finish line.</div><div>But.</div><div>I ran.</div><div>What a day.</div><div>I hadn't planned on doing another half any time soon, but a bib became available &amp; next thing you know...</div><div>Lining up again.</div><div><i>(You know how it goes)</i></div><div><br></div><div>Today I am sore and tired.</div><div>Maybe a tad impatient with my kids.</div><div>Recovery is vastly different at age 40 than a decade ago when I first delved into athletic pursuits.</div><div>I need to work on that part. I can't very well keep this up if the trade off is being a tired bitch to my family the next day.</div><div>What else?</div><div>A little more about the group I've been running with.&nbsp;</div><div>They're part of a team/foundation/greater good; they (we) raise money and awareness for cancer, focusing mainly on our local communities. Supporting families affected by cancer, supporting fighters &amp; cancer warriors.</div><div>It's one of the most hospitable &amp; welcoming teams I've ever had the privilege to be a part of.</div><div><br></div><div>But.</div><div>You know me &amp; the whole group thing by now.</div><div>It's painful.</div><div>I'm awkward &amp; shy.</div><div>Slow to warm up.</div><div>It takes me a while to not be the quiet one.</div><div>Even when I "fit in", even when I'm genuinely included, I <i>still </i>feel kinda like the oddball.</div><div>The thing I'm beginning to realize is that most of us feel that way in group situations; we're all goofy and weird and have our quirks.</div><div>When there's a greater good, a solid cause, and such a welcoming support system in place, it's hard to feel like an outcast.</div><div>And there's a lot to be said for solidarity.</div><div><br></div><div>I woke up at 3:30am yesterday to drive to a sketchy empty lot &amp; get into a car full of (basically) strangers.&nbsp;</div><div>Several of whom I've never seen in daylight (we always run before the sun comes up).</div><div>I gratefully accepted a baggie filled with three coffee cookies baked in a kitchen I've never seen (I'm weirdly weary about eating baked goods from strangers).</div><div>{<i>Says&nbsp;the family *brownie* baker}</i></div><div>The cookies, by the way, were amazing.</div><div><br></div><div>These little things are actually pretty sizable hurdles for me.</div><div>In fact, it might be harder for me to hand over control of my Sunday to a bunch of people I've only just begun to get acquainted with over the past month than run the race itself.</div><div>Yeah, that part is <i>definitely </i>harder than the physical feat.</div><div>Running is the easy part.</div><div>But.</div><div>I'm getting better at the other stuff.</div><div><i>So </i>much better.</div><div>Now I can focus on conveying it better in words here.</div><div>Maybe more often.</div><div>Or not.</div><div>Maybe I'll just keep running &amp; awkwardly blog about it again &amp; again.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><i><br></i></div><div><br></div></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--URHX6xjNnk/VlPcfNc3pII/AAAAAAAAFsM/9mxDNJllRRE/s640/blogger-image-1899404849.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--URHX6xjNnk/VlPcfNc3pII/AAAAAAAAFsM/9mxDNJllRRE/s640/blogger-image-1899404849.jpg"></a></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15461348029664124489noreply@blogger.com2